I am a house.
Inside a labyrinth.
Red brick walls
Cement sticks.
I know my way
I made the pattern exclusively.
Though to say; with these patterns
I saw, I seen and I’ve been present,
Sometimes to my fault of lost.
Made so thick, so crimson-
A hint of a noir soul
A hint unhinged
But, her naturally haunting beauty remains.
When the day remained to be at its will,
Filled with strength?
Her walls-
collapsed.
Erica L. Varela 